


Five Times the Inquisitor was Caught Doing Menial Labor Unbefitting Her Station (and one time she wasn't)

by SailorFish



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (i guess), 5+1 Things, Chores, Domestic Fluff, Drabble, F/M, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 16:19:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12821316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorFish/pseuds/SailorFish
Summary: House Cadash brings their people up to be practical. If you have half an hour to fill before the next shipment of Lyrium comes in, you fill it by sweeping the floors or washing the dishes, not lazing around. Inquisitor Cadash sees no reason to change that just because she's no longer in the Carta.People get weird when it's the Herald of Andraste doing it though.





	Five Times the Inquisitor was Caught Doing Menial Labor Unbefitting Her Station (and one time she wasn't)

**Author's Note:**

> [De-anoned and cleaned up from an old prompt meme.](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/12606.html?thread=50007614)

**1.**

Really, there was a single trait that Cadash valued above all else.

Practicality.

Back before she had been old enough to join in on the… less legal household activities, she, along with the other kids, had spent the majority of their days running errands for those who went out to work. If you had a spare second, you found something useful you could fill it with. The habit ingrained in childhood didn’t exactly fade either: many times, Cadash had walked in on stone-faced killers silent as the grave as they sat together darning their socks. Stones, she'd  _been_ one of those killers.

So when the Inquisition’s first official ‘strategy meeting’ (Great Ancestors, how did she even get into this mess!) ended, and all the others still had to review the plans they had settled on together, it was pretty obvious that she should be the one to clear the table of the stacks of mugs and clustering of teapots.

What Cadash did not expect was Josephine’s startled yelp amidst the clinking dishes.

Her head shot up from her task - had something gone wrong? Had the calculations they made been incorrect after all? She found Josephine staring at her, an awful look of horror on her face. Alright, something more alarming than paperwork then. Cadash’s pulse sped up.

“Herald, _please put down the cups!_ ” Josephine’s melodious voice came out as a breathy squawk.

Was there an intruder behind her?! The other three had looked up too now; the expressions on their faces were not particularly comforting. So Cadash put her armful down slowly, gently, making no sudden movements.

All four humans breathed a sigh of relief; she frowned at them. Was the mark on her hand acting up..?

“ _Please_ do not do that again!” Cassandra told her hotly.

What..?

“What the Seeker means,” was Leliana’s smooth interjection. “Is that it is not… necessary for you to concern yourself with such trivialities. I’m sure you have far more important matters to attend to than clearing the table.”

“Uh, not really,” said Cadash, now thoroughly bewildered. “I told Varric and Solas I’d meet them half an hour from now. Just enough time to wash the dishes.”

It was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. She stared at them, and they stared at her. Finally, the Commander broke the silence, with an abrupt, choked laugh. Next to him, Josephine shook her head.

“You… really don’t have to do that,” she said weakly. “Someone will be by shortly to clean up.”

Cadash frowned at her. What was this about? Some people got a little fussy about making sure everyone stayed in their ‘proper place’, but no one here had given her the impression of particularly adhering to any sort of caste system. Maybe they were afraid a dwarf in the kitchen would cause unnecessary excitement? She hadn’t seen too many of her kind around.

“Oh, I’m sure I won’t trouble the servants,” she attempted.

At that, Cullen let out another bark of horrified laughter. “Oh I am very sure you _will_ , Herald of Andraste.”

The dwarf’s eyes narrowed as she slowly put the pieces together, then snapped open again, wide and horrified.

“All this fuss is about me being Andraste’s so-called Herald?!”

A round of silent nods confirmed it.

Cadash couldn’t help it. She laughed right in their faces, and continued laughing as she scooped up her neat stack of dishes. And then she laughed all the way to the kitchen.

_Humans._

 

**2.**

Not just humans, it turned out.

Varric was staring at her, outright _staring_. For a rogue, he wasn’t exactly subtle at the best of times, and right now…

“What?” said Cadash crossly, standing up from where she had been poking the morning’s fire to life. She couldn’t help wiping her soot-stained hands on her tunic, self-consciously. At least the two dwarves were the only ones in the Great Hall so early.

“Nothing, nothing,” said Varric. “Just wondering whether the next novel should include the bit where Her Worship impersonates a scullery maid.”

The Inquisitor rolled her eyes at him. He was lucky she was about twenty years too old to stick out her tongue petulantly. Though really, if he continued grinning at her like that, she might just go for it, propriety be damned.

“I had a couple minutes free.”

“So do I. So does Ruffles. But _you’re_ the one on her knees before the fireplace.”

“Yes, well.”

There was no way she was going to tell Varric that she’d woken up early and then almost driven herself to a panic attack imagining all her closest companions had been with her ‘till the end in Haven. Their frostbitten faces and icy blue lips flashed before her eyes every time she blinked.  _His_ frozen face was still so clear she half-expected to see snow in his hair. No, she couldn’t tell him that. Not after he’d confided in her just two days ago that he sort-of-maybe-actually _did_ believe she was the Herald.

Besides, due to her unfortunate ‘daymare’, Cadash really did have a free morning for once. Her little… council was only meeting around noon; if she hurried, she’d even have time to sweep the floor before they all got there. The ancient castle Solas had found for them was amazing, but it wasn’t particularly _clean_.

“A-anyways,” Cadash said. “You were willing enough last week, when we traipsed through half the Hinterlands to bring back that stupid Druffalo. What’s the difference?”

“What, Druffy?” Varric chuckled. “I thought you were just doing that to make the kid happy.”

Well, of course she was at least partially doing it for Cole. Half the Inquisition had adopted him as their official little brother (of course, the other half wanted him to be banished and/or killed…). His soft _thank you_ had most certainly been the reason neither Varric nor Dorian had uttered even one word of complaint as they waded through the cold river. But the other reason was that, well, it was simply _there._ They had stumbled across it quite unintentionally, and they had wanted to get back to the farm anyways. Why not do something useful along the way?

...Was that everyday common sense stupid when they had more important things to worry about? Cadash felt her face growing hot, and hoped fervently Varric didn’t notice it.

As if she’d ever have such luck.

He threw his head back and laughed, and then laughed harder at her scowl.

“You know what, I take it back,” she said. “There _is_ something my disciples have to do. Next proclamation: half an hour of chores for everyone.”

“Anything but that, Your Inquisitorialness!”

He attempted a rather inaccurate imitation of grovelling and she sniffed at him.

“I could, you know,” Cadash said as loftily as she could manage.

“You could,” he agreed easily. “But you haven’t and you won’t. Maker’s ass, I’m glad the Seeker made you Inquisitor instead of Hawke.”

“The castle would be that much dirtier with him in charge?”

Varric shook his head. “He’d go through with your threats. He’s fun like that when he gets bored. Now run along, Cadash.” He flapped his hands at her absentmindedly. “I have to write this down while it’s fresh.”

That did it.

Any respect Varric still had for her would definitely be lost now, but she couldn’t help it. She stuck out her tongue at him. And then she ran along. His laughter chasing her down the corridor. Funny thing though, his twisted, icy face was no longer clear in her mind’s eye.

 

**3.**

To be honest, by the time she heard the droll,  _You missed a spot, my dear_ , it was barely a surprise. She didn’t even look up from the mantelpiece she was dusting. Vivienne didn’t seem to particularly approve of the way she did things at the best of times. What was another rocky spot in their rocky relationship?

Still, she could felt the dry amusement radiating off the mage, making the hairs on her nape stand up. It was hard to concentrate.

“You know Andraste used to be a slave, right?” Cadash said, trying to focus on the soothing, rhythmic motion of the cloth on wood. “She must have dusted at least once. It’s not that strange.”

“Oh, is the new claim that you’re Andraste reborn then?” came the far too delighted response.

“What? No!”

The Inquisitor finally whirled around to glare up at Vivienne. She knew she must look ridiculous: wearing blood-spattered leggings and an old rag in her hand. It could only be Vivienne’s restraint that kept her amusement to a raised eyebrow. But Cadash was supposed to have a fitting of a uniform for the Empress’ ball in a bit; there was no point in changing twice, really.

“You know what I mean!”

“I suppose I do, darling,” Vivienne relented. “I just hope you don’t decide to carry on with your little hobby in Halamshiral. It wouldn’t do to send the wrong message.”

“I…” sputtered Cadash.

The thought was ridiculous - but it also wasn’t exactly what Vivienne was implying. What _would_ the nobles’ reaction to her be? Josephine had already sat her down to explain, shame colouring her cheeks, that no matter people’s personal belief about the Herald of Andraste, as a dwarf she would face a rather chilly reception either way. And a dwarf who spent her free time polishing the silverware and knitting socks? They’d eat her alive.

Not to mention what it would do the reputation of Madame de Fer.

But.

Cadash had stared down dragons before, her companions at her side. One of those companions - sometimes the last one standing - was Vivienne. And she was standing now - not walking out on the Inquisition right then and there, not running off to whisper what everyone seemed to consider an embarrassing secret to the Court. That had to mean something. (Though who knew what.)

So she just countered Vivienne’s raised eyebrow with one of her own.

“And what message would that be?”

The enchantress smiled down at her, stained clothes and all.

“Why that the Inquisitor misses spots when dusting, darling.”

 

**4.**

“Excuse me, maid!” called out a voice.

A very familiar voice.

There was no one else in the hallway; he could only be calling to her. Cadash turned slowly, her face a mask of incredulity. Her head barely peeked over the gigantic pile of clothes in the laundry basket, but still. She could see Dorian’s tall, lanky form easily enough.

He was hurrying towards her, his own load of clothing pressed against his chest with one arm. In his other hand, he held a book from which he still hadn’t properly looked up.

“Yes, sorry, could you take this along too? So much work, so little me..!”

“Uh, _no_ , Dorian.”

“Thank y - wait.”

The mage finally looked up, craning his neck to peer over the dirty laundry, and both the book and the clothes tumbled from his grasp. He blinked at her. Once, twice, then he rubbed his eyes and blinked at her again. Cadash waited patiently, examining him as well. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in a while, and whatever sleep he _had_ gotten didn’t seem to have particularly helped. The search for Corypheus’ name was not going well then.

“They’re not going to kick you out just because it wasn’t really Andraste,” Dorian said finally, a bit dazed. “You don’t have to earn your keep.”

Cadash couldn’t help her snort of laughter.

“That’s not really what I’m doing. But I appreciate you caring.”

At her words, Dorian’s gaze sharpened a little, and he seemed to actually wake. He looked the Inquisitor up and down, a small frown pulling on his face.

“What _are_ you up to then?”

“Just some chores.” She shrugged - a difficult task to accomplish when holding a basket that heavy, but all those muscles gained from lugging around a broadaxe far too big for her did come in handy sometimes. “I’ve decided to, uh, give everyone a half day off while we wait for the scouts.”

“You’re not taking advantage of your free time.”

“Neither are you.”

They smiled awkwardly at each other, one workaholic to another.

“Still,” said Dorian, shaking his head. “The Herald of Andraste, up to her elbows in suds. No one in Tevinter would ever believe that.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Not all of us grew up with slaves, Dorian. I spent most of my life up to my elbows in suds.”

“Well, yes, but that was before all… this,” He waved his hand a little lamely, encompassing in one motion the castle, the mark, and in general the whole disaster her life had become over the last months. “Surely that must have changed your view on life, Inquisitor.”

Had it?

Before, doing chores was just a commonsensical everyday thing. If you had twenty minutes free, you could either spend it sitting around daydreaming, or you could spend it making sure the room was swept. Nowadays, it was still a commonsensical everyday thing. But the twenty-minute daydreams were generally worse: thoughts about the scouts not coming back, thoughts about the wrong diplomatic liaisons having been sent, thoughts about soldiers’ armor not being up to scratch. At least dirty clothes were a problem easily solved.

“...No, not really,” she told the mage.

Dorian sighed dramatically.

“You could consider it at least,” he said as he crouched down to gather up his dropped belongings. “If you have that much free time, surely you could fill it doing something more productive than the mindless tasks of a drudge.”

“What, help you with your books?” Cadash threw the mage a skeptical glance over her basket; he grinned at her as he straightened up. A scholar the Inquisitor was not. “How about you help me with the washing instead?”

“And pretend I know which way up the washboard is supposed to go? You wound me, Inquisitor.”

She sighed too, a little less dramatically. The bags under his eyes really did look heavy.

“Fine, fine, give your clothes here.”

To her immense surprise, he actually recoiled a little.

“I’m… not sure I’m comfortable with that,” Dorian admitted. Two small spots of color had blossomed high on his cheeks, and Cadash stared up at them in confusion.

“I grew up with brothers, you know. And cousins. Very many male cousins.”

“Ah, no, Inquisitor, that’s, ah…” He gave an awkward laugh.

It was a laugh that sounded completely different, and yet exactly the same as Cullen’s, the first time she had cleared the table. A little awkward, a little bewildered. A little horrified. Of all the things… She’d asked him about his faith before, but she’d never actually asked him if he believed her to the the Herald. And especially now, after what he too had seen in the Fade…

...To be fair though, either way she _was_ still technically his boss.

Cadash sighed again, this time just as dramatically as Dorian.

“Just hand them over, Sparkler. And go to sleep. That’s an or - ” she hesitated. “That’s a suggestion from your friend. Of course, not following through will result in another, ah, _suggestion_ to come do laundry with me.”

Their gazes locked, both pair of eyes unwilling to yield. And Dorian was stubborn, but Cadash regularly stared down _Leliana_. Finally, he huffed, and dumped his clothes on top of her own. By now, she couldn’t see him at all, and her lips twitched at the sight she must make. It must have amused Dorian too; she could almost hear him smirking.

“Your will, Inquisitor,” he drawled, impersonating Cullen on purpose this time.

But his footsteps wandered off in the direction of his bedroom, and Cadash headed to the laundry with a lighter heart.

 

**5.**

There were a lot of chores Cadash enjoyed doing (well, as much as one actually _enjoyed_ doing chores). But her absolute favorite had to be mending. It quieted something in her to sit on the wooden floor, ripped shirt in hand, and concentrate only on making tiny, neat stitches. Two floors down, the bard was singing about the Empress of Fire. She could hear Blackwall drinking with the Chargers, their laughter blending with Maryden’s voice to create an overwhelming feeling of warmth. It was only too bad Cole was for once nowhere to be found and she was in the attic by herself.

Still, it was pleasant. Soothing. Trance-inducing.

So she was just a bit proud that she didn’t actually jump out of her skin when Sera spoke.

“I guess they weren’t lying after all.”

It was a close thing though.

The Inquisitor’s head snapped up, her heart beating wildly. Her left hand drew back to where her axe should have been - and finding nothing, her right hand switched its grip on the needle, ready to go for the neck. It was only then that she registered that the voice belonged to a grinning Sera, not a Red Templar.

She couldn’t help sighing as the elf, hooting and chortling, plopped down in front of her. Her eyes focused on the cloth before her and she found herself attempting to smooth it down -- she hadn’t quite snapped the thread in her attempted attack. Her heart was still beating like a drum.

“Sorry?” Cadash croaked. She really had to get these insane fight or flight responses under control. Well. Maybe _after_ Corypheus was defeated.

“I thought they were just making it up, yeah?” Sera said. “Something to make the grand and mighty Inquisitor a little more like the rest of us.”

As always, following Sera’s train of thought was an exercise in, hm, not quite futility… More like finding your way through a labyrinth, and you were unsure not only of the exit but even of the entrance. Her paths of logic were solid, and you found your way to the end eventually. It just always took Cadash some time. She pushed her needle into the cloth once more.

“A little more like the rest of who?”

“You know,” Sera said irritably. Cadash’s eyes flickered to her face for one brief moment; the rogue’s gaze hadn’t moved from the Inquisitor’s face. “The little people. Ooh, the Inquisitor does her own dishes, aah, the Herald of Andraste wipes off her own crumbs.”

A little weakly, Cadash managed: “They say that about me?”

“Well, yeah. Rumors, really. I thought they were just taking the piss - nah, more like, trying to comfort themselves. See one dwarf washing her own stinking knickers, it must be have been the Herald.”

A violent blush spread across the Inquisitor’s face. So far, the only emotions she had encountered when people saw her doing chores were not… entirely positive. Shock, mainly, amusement and horror. Her eyes darted up again; Sera was still scrutinizing her carefully, fastidiously. But not in amusement, or horror, or even in shock. In what then?

“Is it a good thing..?” Cadash asked.

“Dunno,” said Sera, blunt to a fault. “No. Yeah. You’re supposed to be a big person, but you keep doing little people things. Even in private, when no one can see you and tell you how great you are for doing them. It’s…”

Strange. Confusing. Unnerving.

The Inquisitor’s mind supplied all the ways that sentence could be finished, and she tensed. Then wished she hadn’t, as her stiff fingers made the needle prick her skin. Cursing quietly and bringing her hand up to her lips to suck away the little droplets of blood, she almost missed Sera’s giggle.

“I guess it’s just a you thing.”

 

**+1.**

“ _No_.”

His eyes resembled a Mabari puppy, just a little. ...Alright, maybe a more fitting comparison would be a young calf. A very cute, over six foot tall calf. Still, Iron Bull’s hands were already clumping up the dress. They didn’t say no to each other in bed often, but when it _was_ said, it was followed through without empty attempts at bartering. A no was a no was a no.

But it wasn’t her watchword, so he did continue looking at her with those sad, sad eyes. Cadash sighed.

“Just because I do… chores,” she said. “Does _not_ mean I can just put on some serving girl’s dress.”

“Alright, alright,” Bull said agreeably, if sadly.

“Honestly,” she shook her head. “We do all these things in bed and you still - ”

“It was just a suggestion, Kadan. The dress will go.”

“Well of course the dress will go,” she pointed out reasonably. “It’s _far_ too narrow around the shoulders, and I’d be tripping over it every other step. The amount of time we spend naked together, and you still don’t know what I’d fit into? You’ll have to give me at least a week to cobble together something nicer - ”

Her giggles were interrupted only by his kiss.


End file.
